To Be Enough
by WildMeiLing
Summary: Joseph struggles to come to terms with his feelings for his queen.
1. Chapter 1

_I don't own _Princess Diaries _or any of these characters. Well, I did add Margaret (in later chapters), but even she isn't going to make me any money. It's all just for fun. (And it's so much fun!)_

The room was dark and cool. Heavy drapes covered the windows. There was no furniture to cover the delicate design of the parquet floor. When Joseph pushed Clarisse inside this silent, empty place and yanked the solid wooden doors closed behind them, he shut out completely the noise and chaos of the scene they fled.

Adrenalin pumping, Joseph leaned back against the door. He stared at the figure of the Queen in front of him, trying to determine if she had been hurt. He had only had time to grab her and run, keeping her covered with his own body to protect her from -

He realized now that he didn't know exactly what the threat had been. Someone had, impossibly, made it into the palace, but was he wielding a knife or had there been gunshots? He couldn't hear anything from inside this room, which was entirely unfamiliar. Why didn't he recognize it? He reached for his earpiece, desperate for an update on the situation down the hall. It was missing! How could he have been separated from his earpiece? He thought back to picking up Clarisse and running away with her. She had been frightened, her arms flailing in protest until she knew who was holding her. Had she knocked it away…?

Focus, he had to focus. He trained his eyes on Clarisse, who was standing a few feet away from him. She was pale and, even from here, he could see she was trembling. In one long stride, he quickly closed the gap between them and took her into his arms. He felt that she was warm and well, her heart beating strongly against his chest, and he was reassured.

"Are you alright?"

"I'll be fine. Are you?" she asked, burrowing her face into his shoulder.

"I am if you are. You are all that matters."

She pushed back from him, her face contorted with fear. "It's not true. Joseph, if something happened to you -"

He cut her off, not wanting to add stress by envisioning what could have been. "Nothing did," he said, stroking her hair to comfort her. She closed her eyes and leaned into his hand.

"Something could have. And I don't know what I would have done." Then her eyes were open and boring into his. Her voice became sultry as she took care to enunciate her words. "I never realized until now just how much I need my bodyguard."

There was no mistaking her meaning. The intensity of her stare, the clarity of her words, the tightened grip of her hands on his shoulders. Though he had been in love with her since the afternoon he met her three years ago, he never once dared to hope for anything like this moment. He searched her face to be sure she wasn't simply reacting to the life-threatening experience they had just shared. He was pretty sure she wasn't, and he decided that "pretty sure" was sure enough.

His lips covered hers and he felt her respond immediately. He poured every moment of yearning and unrequited love into her, and she kissed him back with equal fervor. Adrenalin was surging again as he spun around with her and pushed her up against the door. She pulled herself to him as he pressed against her, neither of them able to be close enough to the other. If he died at that moment, he wouldn't know if he were going to heaven or leaving it. Except for that annoying buzzing sound. That wasn't very heavenly. When had that started? Was it some kind of alarm? Should he be worried?

Oh, no! No, no, no, no, NO! Yes, he should be worried. Dammit, why did he have to pay attention to it? Now he couldn't tune it out. He tried to concentrate on the woman in his arms, his hands grasping her hips, his mouth on the soft skin of her neck… But it was too late, she was fading. "Don't go, Clarisse!" he begged, trying to return to her lips.

She was gone. All that was left was the throbbing buzz of his alarm clock. He sat up, sweating, sheets tangled around him, his pulse racing. He reached out and brought his fist down on the alarm clock to stop its obnoxious bleating.

He hated that alarm clock with a passion he didn't know he possessed. One of these days, he was going to rip it from the night stand and send it crashing into the wall.

He leaned back against his pillow, breathing deeply and rubbing his face with his hands. It had been so real! He had felt her. How could his subconscious produce something so tangible? During the day, his meandering thoughts only went so far, not having enough information to make the imaginary scenarios real, but at night, his mind filled in the gaps and made the fantasies come to life. In his dreams, he knew what it was like to hold her and kiss her and do all sorts of other things with her. Although the setting was usually more peaceful and the circumstances far less dramatic.

He heaved a great sigh that in no way lessened the ache he felt for her. No sense in delaying the inevitable. Time to get ready for another day that would be at once torture and paradise. But first, a shower. One thing he knew, he helped save the palace a great deal of money: he almost never used the hot water.

_To be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

The shower had not helped. If anything, he was feeling worse. In addition to the usual frustration, the nature of this dream had upped the ante with a layer of job-related stress. Joseph decided to take the long way to Clarisse's office by leaving the palace and winding his way through the gardens.

It was a beautiful day. Sun was shining, birds were singing, dew was glistening on the grass. The perfume of the flowers permeated the air. All the other cheery descriptions Joseph could think of to describe beautiful days seemed to fit this one perfectly, and that irritated the hell out of him. A bunny hopped out of the bushes and darted across the path, pushing him over the edge. He desperately longed for the morning to take a sudden turn. A nice mass of storm clouds to cover the vibrant blue sky and cast a cold gray pallor over everything.

He tried once more to have a very important conversation with himself. He started by listing the reasons he could never be with Clarisse.

She was royal, he was a commoner.

She was his Queen, he was her servant.

Really, did he even need to continue? Better keep going. Leave no stone unturned. Some day, one of these was bound to sink in.

She was married, and not to him.

That was a good one. He had always had the utmost respect for the sanctity of marriage, and no matter the height of his feelings or the depth of his pain, the bonds of matrimony definitely provided a stumbling block. He could not rationalize even harboring fantasies about Clarisse when he considered that she was a very married woman.

It worked for the first six months of his employment, anyway. By then, it was as clear to him as it was to everybody else on the palace's payroll that King Rupert had a weakness for women who were not his wife. Rupert and Clarisse were very good friends who liked each other a great deal, lived in the same building, and ruled a country together. They were raising two sons together. Beyond that, there was little about their relationship that could be described as marital.

He threw this back in his own face (he was arguing with himself, after all), and he responded with a mental smirk. _Hardly makes her available_, he thought sarcastically. _Authentic marriage or no, she's utterly devoted to it. _

He couldn't argue with that. She had always maintained her vows, as far as he knew. When she married Rupert, she had married Genovia. That was irrefutable. She would never do anything to betray either her husband or her country, even if she wanted to. And it was not in her nature to want to.

In the end, despite the other rock-solid arguments, it was knowing she didn't want to that kept him grounded in reality. Clarisse had never in any way led him on or intimated an interest in him that went beyond appropriate boundaries. She did like him, he knew that. She trusted him, even beyond the required amount for a bodyguard. He stopped short of openly presuming a friendship. He was certain there was one, but despite the audacity of his heart and mind, he was nothing but respectful of her space. He could look at her and recognize comfort, familiarity, and trust, but he never saw anything that remotely resembled love.

In the end, he wouldn't have it any other way. His pent-up love for her was a burden he would willingly bear, but the anguish that accompanied it was something he would never wish on another. He took a deep breath and accepted once more his solitary path, completely unaware that someone was watching him from the balcony off the Queen's office.

_To be continued…_


	3. Chapter 3

_A heartfelt thank you for the reviews! I appreciate the encouragement and feedback. This one is super short, but the next chapter is ready as well._

Joseph struggled all day.

Once, Clarisse absently slipped off her shoes while she was sitting at her desk, and as she stretched her legs and rolled and flexed her ankles, Joseph learned that she was perfect down to her toes. He had never before known it was possible for feet to be beautiful. A few times, for one reason or another, she leaned in close enough to him for her perfume to intoxicate him momentarily. The scent changed throughout the day, as it mingled and heated with the natural scent of her skin. He knew what she smelled like in the morning, and what she smelled like by late afternoon.

Most days, these moments were something he treasured. Some days, they saddened him. Today, they were too much.

This morning, he had renewed his vow to quietly love her forever. He longed to hold fast to that promise; in fact, he wasn't sure he had any choice in the matter. But something was changing. He began to accept that there was no hope. His love for her smoldered within him, threatening to turn his heart and soul to ashes, ready to consume him from the inside out.

After dinner, he saw that she made it safely to her suite. He politely declined her offer to join her for tea. Had he not been trying so hard to put some extra distance between them - to protect her, to protect himself - he would have noticed the disappointment flash in her eyes. Instead, he looked up in time to see her pleasant smile and watch her lips form the words, "It has been a long day. Another time, perhaps."

He smiled back at her, almost concealing his sadness and having no idea that she gleaned it from his face. She waited for him to reach for her hand and pull it to his lips. He didn't. He merely said, "Good night, Your Majesty," and walked down the hall as quickly as he could. His footsteps echoed and bounced off the walls, reminding him of the hollowness that was forming within him.

_To be continued…_


	4. Chapter 4

_Note: I have read in other stories that the housekeeper is named Mrs. Kowt, so I am using that name as well._

Joseph did not sleep with Kelly.

He had thought about it. He had even accepted her invitation to wait until the end of her shift, and left the building with her. He had walked to his car with her. He had felt her fingers running down his back and her chest brushing against his arm suggestively as he fumbled for his keys. He had reached out to her, grabbed her waist, and pushed her up against the car. He felt her respond to the force of his kisses with a ravenous hunger of her own. He tried not to imagine that she was someone else, and then didn't care. He felt her body mold to his and pretended it was Clarisse's body. He felt her hands grasping his neck and pulling him closer, and imagined that Clarisse wanted him this this badly, needed him this fiercely. He convinced himself that this was alright, that it was necessary, that his very sanity was at stake, and he gave himself over to the passion that was not actually for this woman.

Then she moaned. And called him Joey.

Clarisse would never call him Joey.

No one_._ EVER. Called him Joey.

A bucket of cold water dumped on his head couldn't have been more effective at bringing him back to his senses.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry we… I'm sorry I did this, that I led you on. I can't go any further." He moved around from the passenger side of the car to the driver's seat, his keys now firmly in hand. Once he was inside, he glanced over only to make sure she was a safe distance from the car, then took off without looking back.

_(I keep trying to put some kind of page break here, but it's not working. So...here's a sentence or two to, you know, break up the page.)_

Although Joseph ended up going home alone, he had not gone to the pub that way. He had joined several guys from the security team on their usual mid-week evening out. All of them saw him leave with Kelly.

So did two ladies tucked away unobtrusively in a smoke-filled corner.

Joseph mostly kept to himself during his off-hours. He did occasionally accompany colleagues to the pub for a few drinks, but in the evenings, he was usually content to retire to his own apartment in the palace. His quiet hobbies balanced out the activity of the day, and he was happy to immerse himself in any kind of a good book and a glass of good whiskey, or to strum his guitar in between sips from a glass of good whiskey. He liked quiet. And whiskey.

That night, quiet wasn't enough, and he was out of whiskey. He needed to get out, he needed a distraction.

Joseph wasn't much for gossip. He didn't share it and he didn't inspire it. As he walked through the palace the next morning, he knew he had finally generated some of his own. He knew from the knowing winks he got from the male employees; from the disappointed _tsk_s and head shakes he got from the older female employees; and from the air of dejection in which the hopeful younger female employees (and one male employee) quickly turned their heads to avoid meeting his eyes. There was nothing to figure out once he got to the security hub. Lots of slaps on the backs and raunchy requests for details made it more than obvious that he had been the subject of many conversations.

Naturally, no one believed his "nothing happened" retort.

It wasn't until he entered the outer room of Clarisse's office and saw her personal aide Margaret involved in a hushed conversation with the housekeeper Mrs. Kowt, that a thought hit him like a ton of bricks. He froze to the spot and broke out into a cold sweat.

Clarisse. She would hear.

Suddenly, it didn't matter to him that she didn't love him. It didn't matter to him that she didn't know he loved her. He was her friend, her companion both during and around his shifts. He had turned down her invitation to spend the evening with her, and now she would think he had instead spent the evening -

He wasn't that kind of man. He wasn't the type to pursue a woman only for sex. He had never had a one night stand in his life. He had three sisters and a mother who had raised him better than that, and even though he had almost done what everyone was talking about this morning, he hadn't done it. He wasn't a saint, but he wasn't like that.

He wasn't like Rupert. She would think he was like Rupert.

The conversation between Margaret and Mrs. Kowt ceased almost immediately upon Joseph's entrance. They stared at him, and he stared back. He saw blatant disapproval from Mrs. Kowt, and something he couldn't name from Margaret. Sadness? Disappointment? Could it be - no, not sympathy. That didn't make sense.

"Good morning, Joseph," Margaret said, her rich warm voice conveying nothing but the usual pleasantness. She and Clarisse were the only ones who called him by his full name.

"Margaret, Mrs. Kowt," he replied, nodding his head toward the women.

"Hello, Joe," said Mrs. Kowt, her chin lifting judgmentally.

Really, it wasn't anyone's business. But everyone knew that Mrs. Kowt made everything her business, especially if there was the slightest chance that professional performance would be affected and reflect negatively on the operation of the palace. If she were any other member of the staff, he would have been angered by her reaction to him. Instead, he felt like a scolded child.

"See you at lunch then, dear," said Mrs. Kowt to Margaret.

"Alright, save me a spot and some of those little chicken salad croissants."

"Will do." And she swept out of the office past Joe, generating a breeze fraught with ice.

Feeling even more chilled, and no more mobile, Joseph stayed where he was, unresponsive to Margaret's gaze. Finally, she broke the silence.

"I have your copy of Her Majesty's schedule for tomorrow. I was just about to take it in." She picked up a sheet of paper from her full, but tidy desk, and walked toward him. "In case you wanted to take a look." She smiled encouragingly at him. "She's in there. Aren't you here to see her?"

Joseph took the proffered sheet and tried to speak. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Thank you, Margaret." He started toward the door to the inner office, then stopped and turned back. "How is she this morning?"

Margaret arched her eyebrows curiously. "Fine, I suppose." She gave nothing away, neither in her words nor in her expression.

"So, she's alright then?"

"Of course, she's alright." Then she told him everything he needed to know. She gave a sad smile and added, "Isn't she always alright?"

Joseph's heart broke into a thousand pieces.

_More to come…_


	5. Chapter 5

It was very late in the afternoon of a long, tedious day - not much physical activity, but plenty of letters, papers, phone calls, seating arrangements for stuffy parties...

At some point, Clarisse dismissed Joseph. He had nothing to do, but sit and watch her, and she really didn't think she could stand it anymore. She promised to call him if she needed to leave the premises. She expected no protest today, and she did not receive it. He quietly acquiesced to her wishes, and left the room.

She counted to twenty before she let a few tears trickle out. She told herself it was necessary to relieve the pressure coming from the saltwater reservoir building behind her eyes.

Now Margaret walked into her office and found her in the doorway to the balcony, leaning against it with her shoulder as she looked out on the gardens. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest; Margaret could tell from the tension in her shoulders. She studied the way her hair shimmered in the orange light of the descending sun.

No one else was around, so Margaret dropped the formalities. "Clarisse?"

Clarisse straightened up and turned around, a bright smile already set in place. "Do you have those seating arrangements typed up?"

"Yes."

Clarisse didn't move any closer. "You are a wonder, do you know? Just leave them on my desk, I'll take a last look at them in a few minutes. Thank you for all your help today," she said. It was a genuine expression of gratitude, and she tried to remember to thank Margaret at the end of every day, but this time she also hoped to spur on her departure.

"Clarisse."

She closed her eyes, crossed her arms again, and leaned back into the doorframe for support. Margaret had been here too long - much longer than Clarisse, in fact - to be dismissed so easily.

"Margaret, it doesn't even matter."

"It does matter. You're hurt and sad. It matters that you're hurt and sad."

"No, actually, it doesn't. Honestly -"

"'Honestly'? Are you going to give me honesty?"

"- I just want this day to end so I can drink some tea, go to bed, and start fresh tomorrow."

"What's going to change between now and tomorrow if you don't own up to what's bothering you?"

"I don't know. But it's the only course of action I have."

"He didn't go home with her, Clarisse. The rumors are wrong."

Clarisse was quiet while she digested this. For a moment, the pain lining her face lessened. "How do you know?"

"How do I know what? How do I know he didn't go home with her, or how do I know you're in love with him?"

Clarisse blanched at Margaret's comeback, how it took a vague and unprecedented conversation and brought out of it a stark, unflinching truth. Hearing it out loud, she almost retreated back behind the cool exterior of her careful queen persona. Before she could stop it, her response slipped out shakily. "The first one."

Margaret raised an eyebrow at her saucily. "Maybe the maids _don't_ know everything. At least, not right away. If you don't believe me, check with them. I'll bet they have a revised story to report by now."

"It doesn't matter," Clarisse said again. "He's a grown man, and what he does in his personal time is his own business."

Margaret watched the younger woman, hoping she would break down and share something - anything - that she was feeling. When she saw nothing forthcoming, she relented. "Alright. I just thought you would like to know." She moved over to the desk to place the typed seating arrangements neatly in the center. "I will see you in the morning. I hope you enjoy your tea."

Margaret was almost out the door when a whispered question stopped her in her tracks.

"What does she look like?"

Margaret turned around to see that Clarisse had taken a few steps into the room. There was no mask now, just naked anguish. Her eyes were reddening and welling up with tears. Margaret came back into the room, closing the door behind her and aching to wrap her arms around the woman she loved like the child she'd never had. But she knew Clarisse well enough to let her be the one to close the distance.

"You don't need to know any of that."

"I do. I need to know."

Margaret wasn't sure, but didn't want to waste too much time sizing up the situation. Once the moment passed -

"Her name is Kelly. She is a waitress at the pub. She has dark eyes and long, black hair. Not very tall, slender but still curvy. She is attractive, but not beautiful. She is a shameless flirt, and has had her eye on Joseph since the first time he set foot in the place. He has always been polite to her, as he is to everyone. If it hadn't been for her throwing herself in his way every chance she got, I don't think he would have ever noticed her. He left with her last night, but she only got as far as his car. He left her in a cloud of dust in the parking lot. And that," she declared, "is the truth."

Clarisse took it all in. Sadness, regret, relief all washed through her, and her face crumpled. Suddenly, she was not a queen, just Clarisse, and she crossed the room to throw herself into the open arms of the woman who had been like a mother to her from the day she arrived at the palace as a married princess, barely emerged from childhood. She wept while Margaret held her tightly.

"Margaret." The name came out as a broken sob. "I don't want to be here. I wish I were somewhere else, being someone else."

"Never. You must remember what I used to tell you. Never wish to be anything other than who and what you are."

"Not today though." Already her voice was calmer and her breathing more controlled. "Just once, just for one day, I want to be someone else."

"And who would you be, my dear?"

There was a short silence, and the tears flowed fresh. Her reply was almost inaudible, and cloaked in shame. "A black-haired waitress in a pub."

Margaret fought to keep her own composure. "That's a terrible choice. Why would you want to be someone he doesn't want?"

"But he did want her."

"But he left her. He left her and came home and stood outside in the garden and stared up at your window."

"Just once, Margaret. Just once…"

"I know, darling. I know…"

* * *

Joseph was approaching the door to Clarisse's office just as Margaret was coming out of it. Her eyes looked suspiciously shiny, and there were damp spots on one shoulder of her impeccable white suit jacket. Still, her calm demeanor was unruffled.

"Joseph, I wasn't expecting to see you back here. Her Majesty is all done for the day." She spoke in a low voice, and he knew she was trying to keep her employer from overhearing her.

"I came to see if she was ready for dinner. I was going to escort her -"

"That won't be necessary. Her Majesty is having dinner in her suite. Sorry you didn't know."

"Then I can walk her back to her suite."

"She's not quite ready yet."

Joseph kept pushing. "But you said she was done for the day."

"She is." A polite smile of non-negotiation. Margaret did not elaborate or attempt to reconcile her previous statements. The conversation was over.

"Very well then." Joseph left, his step seemingly purposeful, but without having any idea where to turn.

_There will be more..._


	6. Chapter 6

_Thank you again for the all the reviews! I am grateful for the feedback and kind words of encouragement. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it._

Joseph found a place in the garden where the walkway bubbled into a circle before moving on. There were two benches facing each other, and the roses grew tightly around the cement pad, reaching out with their heavy, fragrant blooms to peer over the shoulders of anyone seated on the benches. It was as well-tended as every other part of the grounds, but somehow the floral inhabitants here were wilder, tumbling forward, pushing the boundaries of their perfectly edged beds. Here, his senses immersed in this place she loved, he could feel her presence more fully.

He sat down wearily, leaned forward to support his elbows on his knees, and buried his face in his hands.

This evening was as beautiful as the morning had been the day before. Now Joseph barely noticed. The storm he had wished for roiled inside him, and the grayness he had craved seeped into the cracks he felt forming in his soul.

"May I join you?" He was surprised to hear that voice. Margaret rarely fraternized with other members of the staff during her time off. She made an exception for Mrs. Kowt; he had never quite understood why.

He looked up at her, trying to determine whether that was a rhetorical question as she seemed intent on being there. He wanted to say no, but, "Yes, of course," came out.

She sat down across from him, and her posture was the opposite of his. She settled back against the bench and crossed her long legs. She was elegant in her white pantsuit, and possessed an understated glamour. She reached into the low front pocket of her jacket and pulled out a gold cigarette case and lighter.

Joseph had never seen her cross her legs; it was a habit queens avoided, and Margaret was, in some ways, every bit as regal as her boss. He had also never seen her smoke.

"I am just now learning that you smoke?"

She held the cigarette daintily between her index and middle fingers as she snapped the case shut and put it back in her pocket. She lit the cigarette and placed it between her lips, inhaling deeply, her eyes closing as she savored the moment. She exhaled and opened her eyes again.

"I rarely indulge. Maybe one cigarette in the evening. A few on nights when I meet Mrs. Kowt down at the pub for fish and chips." She held it up and studied it in the dusky light of evening. She shifted her eyes to Joseph's face, preparing to watch his reaction to something she was about to say. "I never turn down a chance to take a smoke break with Her Majesty."

Joseph's eyes popped in surprise. She got the reaction she had expected. "She doesn't smoke."

"Oh, doesn't she?"

"I'm with her all the time. I would know if she were a smoker."

"Are you with her now?"

"I -… Well, no, I am not," he conceded.

"I see," she replied archly. "It just so happens Her Majesty tried her first cigarette as an act of mutiny at the tender age of fifteen. Her future mother-in-law highly disapproved of the habit, at least for women; not to mention what her very strict father would have done had he caught her. For a few years, she would sneak a cigarette on occasion. She gave it up nearly altogether a week after she turned eighteen."

"What happened a week after she turned eighteen?"

"She married Crown Prince Rupert."

"And her future mother-in-law was now her present mother-in-law."

"Exactly. Every so often, she and I would retreat out here and bond over a disparaged habit. I think she felt rebellious. I did it for the company." Even in the fading light, Joseph could see her eyes twinkle. "Okay, so I felt rebellious, too." Joseph smiled for the first time that day. "Then she became pregnant, and that put a stop to it. A few years later, Rupert's father, who was still king, fell ill." Margaret's voice softened. "She knew she was on the brink of becoming queen, and she took her status as a role model very seriously. It was a bad habit, and she didn't want to be seen condoning it." Her voice brightened again. "You know all those stories about how she would give her bodyguards the slip to go horseback riding?"

Joseph nodded. "Oh!" as understanding hit him. "She was sneaking out to smoke?" he asked incredulously.

Margaret smiled. "Sometimes. Often she was just sneaking out. But she figured a long ride at a fast pace in the fresh air might help to diminish the tell-tale scent."

"I've gone out riding with her lots of times. Why haven't I seen her -"

"Because it is a secret, Joseph. Don't you dare tell her I told you!"

"I won't, I won't!" Joseph hesitated, trying to sound casual as he shifted the conversation slightly. "All the warnings, though, and she's never once ditched me."

Margaret smirked at his ill-concealed smugness. She even looked classy while she smirked. "Don't flatter yourself. I don't think she's tried."

Joseph laughed quietly, and she watched him carefully through the cloud of smoke she blew out. Her eyes took on a tender quality, and as gently as possible, as if she were afraid of spooking him, she ventured, "It isn't easy, is it? Being in love with a royal?"

Joseph felt as though he'd been punched in the gut; all the air was sucked out of him in an instant. He couldn't speak, couldn't even form a coherent response in his head.

"Don't worry, you are the consummate professional. I doubt anyone can see it, but me."

Her reassurance was anything but reassuring, and was met with silence.

"I'm certain Clarisse doesn't see it." Even in his stupor, he flinched at hearing Margaret refer to Her Majesty in such a familiar way. "After all these years, she wouldn't know romantic love if it walked up to her and slapped her across the face. I'm beginning to wonder if you would be any quicker to recognize it yourself."

He still only stared back at her. She started to worry.

"I know how you feel, that's all. So many emotions, so much to offer; no way to give it release, no one to talk to about it. I couldn't even talk to Clarisse, although I'm sure she knew. That she knows."

He was reeling from the revelation that someone had discerned his deepest, darkest secret, unable to understand what she was revealing to him.

She laughed softly, and seemed to change the subject. "Look at us, we're opposites. You're all in black, I'm all in white. I wonder…what color is your handkerchief?"

He blinked at her, then pulled out a folded square of white fabric from his pocket.

"Ha!" She reached into her other jacket pocket, and pulled out a black handkerchief.

It appeared to be a safer topic to broach than the one he thought they were leaving behind. "Why is yours black?"

She smiled sadly. "After a time, it would hardly be appropriate for an employee to continue to wear mourning colors for her king, would it?" She fingered the edges of the handkerchief almost reverently. Despite her boldness up until now, she was suddenly reluctant to meet his eyes.

Slowly, it clicked. Not long after meeting him, Margaret, who had been the personal aide to Rupert's father (may he rest in peace), joked with Joseph that she had been bequeathed to the new queen rather than hired, and he had wondered then why Margaret worked for Clarisse and not for Rupert. If she had been in love with the old king, if there had been a relationship, it stood to reason that the king's son would not appreciate having her by his side, no matter how dazzlingly efficient she was.

"You…and King Gregory? You were…?"

"No, we were not lovers, not in the carnal sense of the word. But I was in love with him, and he loved me. No affair ever came of that." She finally looked at him again, and gave a pained smile. "Rupert inherited his penchant for dalliances from his mother, not his father. Not that it would have been just…" She took a deep breath, and leveled her gaze at him, her confidence returning. "It wouldn't have been some tawdry affair. We loved each other deeply. If we had merely fancied one another, we could have managed _tawdry_. But we loved each other, and there was not much to do about that."

"Did King Rupert think…"

"Probably. Although we never did anything to raise eyebrows, and I was never accused. I think the suspicion came through his mother, and he's never quite trusted me."

Joseph watched the smoke curl from the end of the cigarette that dangled from her fingers, forgotten for the moment. Margaret had been in love with her king.

He was royal, she was a commoner.

He was her king, she was his servant.

He had been married, and not to her.

Neither would have acted to betray his vows or their country, even though they both wanted to.

Joseph's heart ached for the beautiful woman across from him who had loved her king in secret, and years later, still mourned him the same way.

"Knowing glances, little touches - the way his hand would brush mine when I handed him papers to sign, or how he would take my arm to help me out of the car on the way to a session of Parliament. Such small things, small gestures. But we both knew, and that made the difference. It was enough, Joseph. Maybe not for some in our position, but for me, knowing the truth, I could live with the barest tokens of affection. And I loved him back in the only way I could. I did my job and he knew that I was taking care of him. Everything, down to the placement of the smallest paperclip, was an act of love. It was enough."

Joseph had no idea what to say. He merely held her gaze and kept her company with her feelings, a strange concoction of fulfillment and regret.

Another cloud of smoke preceded her next words to him. "I don't have to tell you about that, do I? About loving someone in small ways. I see the way you take care of her, the way you watch her. I see the way you love her." She sat up straight, uncrossing her legs to put both feet on the ground, and her expression became intense. "Joseph, this is very important. I need to be sure you hear me. I have already told you one of her secrets, something I have never done before, and I cannot divulge another."

"I wouldn't ask you to," Joseph replied with a nervous frown.

"I know. Trust me. Just answer this question: What are the little things you notice about Clarisse?"

Trust her? He watched her watching him closely. This whole conversation had been an act of trust on her part. He had a feeling she talked with Mrs. Kowt, but he had never heard either of them disseminate a single gossip item, and he knew without a doubt that Margaret was every bit as much Clarisse's guardian as he was. Alright, then. He took a deep breath…

"She, well…" he faltered. In three years, he had never been able to discuss his feelings or the object of his affection with such openness. "She…gets bored during state dinners."

If Margaret was disappointed with such an un-juicy tidbit, she didn't let on. "How do you know?" she coaxed kindly.

"Well, it's not obvious because she's very good at making people feel they have her undivided attention. I think it's because she truly cares about people. She has a genuine smile and a gracious manner." He started to relax, his focus on Clarisse now more than on his own discomfort. "But when she is bored or preoccupied, her smile changes. She can follow a conversation with a pompous politician and hear all the cues for her responses, but in order to keep her smile real, she thinks about something else that makes her happy." He chuckled a little. "I called her out on it once, asked her what she was actually thinking about. She was definitely surprised. At first, I thought she would be angry. Then she gave me a sheepish smile and said, 'Horseback riding.'"

Margaret laughed. Joseph relaxed even more. "Sometimes, she catches my eye when some obnoxious official is droning on and on. Nothing on her face changes, but her eyes sparkle a bit, and I know she's doing a mental eye roll. No one else would notice it."

"But you notice it?"

"Yes, I do." Joseph wasn't looking at Margaret anymore; his gaze was focused on something invisible to anyone but him. Now that he thought of it, he could list a hundred things about her that no one else noticed - secret smiles, nervous habits, inside jokes, confidences.

How her jaw would clench and her eyes turn a deeper shade of blue when she got angry, even though the rest of her radiated calm.

How rainy days made her wardrobe choices cozier and increased her tea consumption.

How her smile turned wistful when she saw babies and small children, especially girls.

The way she would turn her head slightly toward him in grateful acknowledgement when he placed his hand on the small of her back to guide her through an over-eager crowd.

How she lit up as she filled him in on all the goings-on in the princes' lives while they were away at school. How she shared with him once that she hated sending them to boarding school, and had fought Rupert to keep them home with her as long as possible.

How she always suppressed a disappointed sigh when she saw pears for dessert. If he were standing guard in the dining room, she would shoot a stealthy glance his way, looking for sympathy, knowing he was just as disappointed. On those evenings, when he escorted her back to her suite, she would invite him into the sitting room and pull out her secret chocolate truffle stash to share. The location was never the same because Pierre and Philippe always uncovered her hiding spot, and she was constantly finding a new one.

How finding her chocolate truffle stash depleted or a carton of her favorite ice cream returned by one of her sons, empty to the freezer, made her stamp her foot in anger.

How he thought it was adorable when she was mad enough to stamp her foot, and that angered her even more.

How on two occasions, she had dozed over a lapful of paperwork after settling into her seat on _Genovia One_, and in her unconscious state, her head had ended up on his shoulder. Both times, she woke with a start, and he pretended it hadn't happened to maintain their boundaries and to give her peace of mind. He tried to remember her dozing on Rupert's shoulder when they traveled together, but he couldn't recall a single time.

How she would ask him to tell her about Spain and his family, and listen with an almost dreamy expression, as though she were imaging another life -

Another life.

And she had never once given him the slip.

Joseph's head shot up, and Margaret stared into his startled eyes. She sighed in relief as the realization dawned on him.

"You save her every day, you know that, don't you? Not a bodyguard saving his queen from physical harm, but a man saving a woman, his friend, from a confined life of duty. Surely, that's a reason to be grateful to you. Do you think that's all she feels for you, Joseph?"

"I always thought… Yes, I did think so."

"And now?"

Joseph's voice came out terse from emotion, with the only sure thought he had in him. "I love her. I love her with everything I am."

"Yes, but what do you think she feels? You must say it," she almost pleaded. "I cannot."

His reply was a tentative whisper. "She loves me. She loves me back." His eyes were tearful as he looked into her face and sought confirmation.

Margaret took one last puff from what was left of her cigarette. "I know, Joseph. I know…"

_Not much more…but there is more…_


	7. Chapter 7

_So many reviews - thank you!_

_The excerpt from Clarisse's book is from _Rebecca _by Daphne du Maurier. I just thought Clarisse would like the book, but the page I flipped to at random turned out to be eerily relevant._

It had taken forever, but the day was finally over. Clarisse was waiting on her tea, and then she would be off to bed. Not that she expected sleep to come easily. Caffeine and concealer would make up for lack of rest. More than sleep, she needed the chance to spend eight hours by herself to hone her focus and regain her composure. By the time morning came around, she would be able to face anything.

She sat on the sofa and propped her feet up on the coffee table, a simple, un-queenly pose she relished in solitude. She held a book on her lap, not bothering to open it. The upside to a lonely evening: no need for pretense.

There was a soft knock on her door - so much for no pretenses. She brought her feet to the floor, turned to a random page of her book, and prepared to smile. Mrs. Kowt would not be fooled by her attempt, but a lack of trying would disturb her loyal servant even more.

Clarisse knew Margaret would never share particulars with anyone else. Still, Mrs. Kowt had been in service to the palace since shortly before Clarisse's arrival, and by now she knew how to determine her Queen's moods. She could measure the severity of them by the amount of food that came back untouched to the kitchen on the tea trays she had prepared herself. When she was especially concerned, she would pull out Clarisse's mother's scone recipe; it was the Queen's favorite, and Mrs. Kowt knew she was unable to resist. Raspberry-chocolate chip scones had been at every meal today, and Clarisse had done her best to consume them dutifully, in hopes of assuaging Mrs. Kowt's concerns.

No doubt, more scones were about to arrive. Clarisse, who as a girl had lamented not being able to have them all day, every day, let out a small sigh.

"Come in."

The smile froze as she watched Joseph walk in with the tea tray. "What are you doing here?"

"Wait, don't talk yet." He carefully held onto the tray as he came all the way into the room, then gingerly maintained his balance as he used his foot to close the door behind him. He brought the tray over to the coffee table and gently set it down.

"Sorry, I had to concentrate. Opening the door threw me off. I have a new appreciation for all the people who carry trays around here without spilling things."

He sat down next to her without waiting for an invitation, and glanced over at the book on her lap as he started pouring tea. "Read me a line from that page."

Clarisse stared at him for a moment, then looked down to her book. She was used to his relaxed demeanor and casual attitude when no one else was around, but she hadn't expected it now. Things had obviously been strained between them all day. She cleared her throat:

_"'Tell me,' I said, my voice casual, not caring a bit, 'tell me, was Rebecca very beautiful?'_

_"Frank waited a moment. I could not see his face. He was looking away from me toward the house. 'Yes,' he said slowly, 'yes, I suppose she was the most beautiful creature I ever saw in my life.'_

_"We went up the steps then into the hall, and I rang for tea."_

As she was at the end of the chapter, Clarisse stopped reading.

"Is that before or after they discovered the broken cupid?"

"Just before," Clarisse said, surprised he was familiar with the story.

"So you're fake reading."

Clarisse blushed, although she had no idea why. "How would you know?"

"Because two days ago, I picked up the book and read from where you had marked it, and Mrs. de Winter was just confessing that she had broken the little cupid statue."

Smart ass. Now she was irritated. "Aren't you terribly clever?" she muttered. Honestly, she had never employed such a nosy bodyguard.

"I am." He held out a teacup to her. "Milk and sugar." He gestured to a plate of the anticipated pastries. "I was in the kitchen to get tea for myself while Mrs. Kowt was preparing the tray. I told her I would save her a trip and bring it up to you. She added an extra teacup for me, but said the scones were only for you."

Clarisse considered the plate that held enough scones for a small tea party. "Are you telling me that Mrs. Kowt forbade you to eat the scones?"

"Yes, I believe she did."

"Why?"

"Because she made these especially for you. And she's mad at me," he said with a repentant smile.

Clarisse rubbed her temple with her free hand. She was eight hours of preparation shy of being able to deal with what was coming; her brain was saturated. "Joseph -"

"It's alright, Your Majesty. I have finally figured out what Margaret and Mrs. Kowt have in common." He picked up his own teacup and leaned back on the sofa. It was with great effort that he had wrested away from a very reluctant Mrs. Kowt the task of bringing Clarisse her tea. "They are almost as protective of you as I usually am."

An unbidden smile came to Clarisse's lips, and she was pleased to feel it brought some relief to her. She breathed a little easier. "You always take good care of me, Joseph," she said quietly. "I am very fortunate to have people who take such good care of me." She tried to lighten the mood and steer the conversation to a close. "And help yourself to the scones. I promise not to tell Mrs. Kowt."

"Your Majesty -"

"Really, if you knew how many of those I've already had today, you would understand you're doing me a great favor."

"That's not what I -"

She held up her hand. "Joseph, I did hear the rumors today, and while I find you to be an intriguing individual, I can't for the life of me figure out the reason for this palace-wide fascination."

"I suppose I don't usually provide fodder for gossip."

"It will pass, probably by tomorrow, and Mrs. Kowt will let you eat baked goods again." Clarisse made a successful attempt at a carefree smile. "Stay long enough, and you'll get used to it. Believe me. I've been the subject of gossip since the marriage contract was drawn up when I was ten. That was almost thirt-…well, awhile ago."

"Your Majesty, I want to apologize -"

She cut him off again. "I don't concern myself with rumors, Joseph. Whether they are true or not, you are an adult with free will, and what you choose to do on your own time is no one's business, but your own." She smiled again, rather pleased with how convincing she sounded.

"It's more than that, Your Majesty. Please, just let me -"

"I only want to move past it." He did not miss the note of finality in her voice.

He put down his tea, stood up, and started pacing away from her. He made a lap around the sofa, then stopped in front of her. He knelt down before her, took her teacup and set it next to his, and held her hands, determined she would not brush him off again.

"Look at me, Clarisse."

His use of her first name caught her off guard. She took her eyes away from the sight of her hands wrapped in his, and looked into his face with astonishment.

"I ran away from you last night. When you asked me in for tea, I didn't just turn you down and leave. I ran from you."

It was too much to process, and she didn't try; better just to ask. "I don't understand. What do you mean, you ran away from me?"

"I love you." He took a deep breath and tried to ignore how wide her eyes grew. "I am head-over-heels, madly in love with you." The words came rushing out now, as he couldn't risk missing the chance to say everything. "I am not telling you this because I want to hear you say the words back to me. I'm not trying to seduce you or hope for something that is impossible on every level. I don't want you to be uncomfortable, although I understand if you are and you need to let me go. I am only telling you because I don't want to run away from you again, and if you know, I won't have to. I promise this will not interfere with my ability to do my job. It hasn't once in the past three years, and it won't in the future if you choose to keep me on after this confession. I love you. There is no one else for me. There is no waitress from the pub. There is only you, and to be near you and to be your protector - that is enough for me."

Whatever he expected Clarisse to say, she didn't. She was speechless.

"Please, Clarisse, it is important to me that you know I didn't sleep with her." He wanted to say more, but his voice broke.

She drew one of her hands away from his and touched his cheek. "I know you didn't, Joseph."

He searched her face and was convinced she believed him. A heaviness fell away from his shoulders.

"I own nothing of myself, Joseph," she said bravely, despite her trembling mouth. "I cannot give you anything. It's not fair to you. There is nothing for you here with me."

"Nothing because you can't give it? Or because you don't want to?"

"In this case, there is no difference." Her voice fell to a whisper in an attempt to protect it from cracking under the weight of her emotions. "For this to be enough…" She shook her head. "It just can't be. It can't be enough. You deserve someone who can love you completely, who can give you everything."

"So do you," he replied fervently. She could not bear the intensity of his gaze, and looked down as he continued. "Anyway, it wouldn't be fair either to find someone else - not to you, not to me, not to whomever someone else would be. You have everything I am. I belong to you. I am not complete without you."

For a few minutes, they were silent. She struggled with the conflicting emotions within her, trying to decide what to say in a situation that was futile, one in which her feelings didn't matter. Suddenly, she heard Margaret telling her that they did. She loved Joseph, and it mattered that she loved him. Joseph loved her back, and it mattered that he loved her back. Even still, was it enough just to know?…

Joseph did not urge her on, knowing the debate that raged inside her. He studied her hands in his, caressing her fingers with his thumbs. Her voice broke the silence with barely a whisper.

"My body was promised to someone else a long time ago, even if he did lose interest after helping to produce two heirs. And my soul belongs to the people of Genovia. Nothing can change that."

"And your heart? Who holds that?" he ventured boldly.

She squeezed her eyes shut, but could not hold back her tears. She hated them for laying her bare in front of him, for forcing her to speak from such a vulnerable place. But when she opened her eyes and saw his tenderness, his own vulnerability, she became braver. Love had eluded her for so many years that, had she thought about it, she wouldn't have believed she would recognize it. Yet here it was, kneeling before her and welling up inside her, and it was unmistakable.

And it mattered.

"No one has ever asked for that. I've kept it all this time. It's all I have to give, Joseph, but it's yours. I would trust no one else with it."

He gripped her hands in his as if she were his anchor. "It's more than I hoped for." He smiled widely and stood up, pulling her up with him. He brought her to him and wrapped his arms around her, then whispered in her ear, "I'll take it."

They stood for an immeasurable time, melded together for support and reassurance on the cusp of uncharted territory, before he worked up the courage to lift her face and press his lips to hers. They were soft kisses that would not be allowed to see the light of day, but they sealed the promise of things bittersweet and undefined, giving them a light-proof permanence. They stayed in each other's arms for a long time, drawing out the interlude as long as possible.

One evening of real contact, no matter how limited, was better than any dream Joseph had ever had. For both of them, it was enough.

So they could only hope.

_Epilogue to follow..._


	8. Chapter 8

_Thank you one more time for the reviews! They encouraged and motivated me during my first attempt at a multi-chapter story._

**(Too Many) Years Later…**

Clarisse paused on her way back to her office to stare out a window that looked onto the gardens. As she contemplated her roses, she felt a pair of arms wind around her waist. Soft, warm kisses tickled the back of her neck. She shivered.

"What do you think you are doing?" she demanded.

"Taking advantage of a blind spot."

"Whose blind spot? Mine or the cameras'?"

She felt Joseph's breath as he laughed quietly. "Both." He resumed his kisses, and in among them, said in a low voice, "If you're going to have an affair, the head of security is the one to have it with." A few more kisses before his voice lowered all the way to a whisper. "I know all the spots," he finished suggestively.

"Yes, you certainly do," she replied appreciatively.

Joseph laughed again, then turned her around to take aim at her lips. He kissed her slowly and deeply, relishing the desire he felt coming from her. He knew it wouldn't be long before -

She pushed away. "Joseph, the cameras might not see us, but anyone else can."

"Maybe I don't care anymore. I've dreamed for years of enjoying you like this."

"Mm," was her distracted reply as he pulled her back to him and plied her with more kisses. "Soon, Joseph," she promised, extricating herself once more from his embrace. "When Amelia is queen -"

"Not soon enough. The coronation is still two years away."

Clarisse smiled at the sight of Joseph pouting. She could feel herself falling into him, as if he had his own gravitational pull. "You know, I am rather tired."

"Oh?" he asked nonchalantly. "Are you feeling unwell?"

"No, nothing like that. Simply not as young as I used to be. I think I may have to take a rest before the dinner tonight." She asked pointedly, "Would you accompany me to my suite, Joseph?"

"Of course, Your Majesty," Joseph replied with an exaggerated bow, his eyes sparkling. "I must have you...well-rested."

* * *

A little while later, Clarisse lay listless in Joseph's arms. "Not bad for an old man."

"Careful who you call 'old'. You're only a year younger than I am."

"The key word being 'younger'." She closed her eyes, enjoying the rare moment of blissful surrender. Times like this required planning and caution and, more often than not, the cover of darkness. There was so much at stake, they really couldn't afford to succumb to their desire for one another at some random time during the day, but after all these years, sometimes it was too much to resist. "Now I really do need a nap, and there's no time."

Joseph laughed softly. "I think you made the wiser choice, given your options."

She smiled back at him. "Yes, I am learning to prioritize."

He tightened his arms around her. "Someday," he promised, nuzzling her neck, "we will make love, then stay cuddled together for the rest of the night."

"Or day."

"Hmm, yes, or day," he readily agreed. He continued to lavish her with attention, moving from her neck to her shoulders.

"It sounds lovely," she said dreamily. "Tell me more."

"We will leave our clothes strewn haphazardly about instead of rushing to put them back on, and we won't worry that some intimate garment will turn up in an incriminating place." He raised an eyebrow significantly at her. Clarisse gave an embarrassed laugh, remembering the time she flew into a panic when Joseph couldn't find one of his socks. It turned up on the backside of the lampshade near the bed, after he had left with only one sock on and, luckily, before the maids arrived.

"At least you can laugh about it now," he said, tracing her mouth with his fingers.

"Almost," she amended. "The passage of time is making it a little funnier." She ignored the poorly suppressed mirth crinkling the corners of his eyes as he stared down at her affectionately. "Anyway, move along. You were saying…?"

" Ah yes." He resumed his "someday" dialogue, returning his lips to her collarbone. "We will end the day with dinner, not pretending that we're discussing business. We'll have an entire bottle of wine with our food, instead of a respectable glass or two. And in the morning, we'll have breakfast in bed because I will not have snuck out some time during the night."

"You are describing my idea of heaven."

"You are my heaven." He moved to the hollow at the base of her neck and inhaled deeply. "Divine," he proclaimed. "How is it I've never once detected cigarettes?"

Clarisse froze. "What?"

"All these years, I've breathed in your scent as if it were oxygen, but I never caught a whiff of cigarettes."

"I never - I mean, I haven't in ages… How did you…?" Then realization dawned on her. "Margaret told you! She's the only one who knew. Why would Margaret tell you?"

"Not sure. It always made me wonder what other secrets of yours she's kept that I've never known."

"I think it's safe to say you know all my secrets by now."

"Maybe. Maybe not. I should come with you next time you meet her for lunch."

"You always come with me when I meet her for lunch."

"Yes, but I stay on guard outside the front door. Next time, I'll bring Shades along so I can come in. So many questions…"

Clarisse laughed, but he detected a hint of genuine nervousness. "I am much too dull. She already revealed my one remotely interesting secret."

"I doubt that. She intimated that she had more information. And you yourself once admitted to me that you were the source of much gossip."

"Joseph, I can change my fingernail polish from one shade of pale pink to another shade of pale pink, and I make the headlines on _Eggs With Elsie_."

"I think you're deflecting."

"I think you're wasting our 'naptime'. We can talk later. Priorities, remember?"

He grinned. "I think you are right." He pulled her closer to him than would have seemed possible, and murmured in her ear. "You said you needed a nap, so I thought you might have had enough."

She put her hand on his cheek and turned his face toward hers. Her eyes glimmered with feeling. "Never, Joseph. Never enough."


End file.
